“Not a very promising name for a November camping-place,” said Jack, “but I guess we’ll have to stop.  I don’t believe it’s cold enough to freeze anybody to-night.”

There was no house here, but there was water, and plenty of tall, dry grass, so it made a good place for us to stop.  Frozen Man’s Creek, as well as all the others, was a branch of the Bad River, which flowed parallel with the trail to the Missouri.  We camped just east of the creek.  The grass was so high that we feared to build a camp-fire, and cooked supper in the wagon.

“I’m glad we’ve got out of the burned region,” said Jack.  “It’s dismal, and I like to hear the wind cutting through the dry grass with its sharp swish.”

There was a heavy wind blowing from the southeast, but we turned the rear of the wagon in that direction, saw that the brake was firmly on, and went to bed feeling that we should not blow away.

“I wonder who the poor man was that was frozen here?” was the last thing Jack said before he went to sleep.  “Book agent going out to Shaw’s, perhaps, to sell him a copy of ’Every Man his Own Barber; or, How to Cut your Own Hair with a Lawn-Mower.’”

We were doomed to one more violent awakening in the old Rattletrap.  At two o’clock in the morning I was roused up by the loud neighing of the horses.  Old Blacky’s hoarse voice was especially strong.  As I opened my eyes there was a reddish glare coming through the white cover.  “Prairie fire!” flashed into my mind instantly, and I gave Jack a shake and got out of the front of the wagon as quickly as I could.  I had guessed aright; the flames were sweeping up the shallow valley of the creek before the wind as fast as a horse could travel.

    [Illustration:  In the Prairie Fire]

Jack came tumbling out, and we knew instantly what to do.  We both ran a few yards ahead of the wagon and knelt in the grass, and struck matches almost at the same moment.  Jack’s went out, but mine caught, and a little flame leaped up, reached over and to both sides, and then rolled away before the wind, spreading wider and wider.  I beat out the feeble blaze which tried to work to windward, and ran back to the wagon, while Jack went after the horses.  The coming flames were almost upon us by this time; but Ollie was out, and together, aided by the wind, we rolled the wagon ahead on our little new-made oasis of safety.  Jack pulled up the pony’s picket-pin, and brought her on also, while the other horses, being loose, sought the place themselves.  The flames came up to the edge of the burned place, reached over for more grass, did not find it, and died out.  But on both sides of us they rushed on, and soon overtook our little fire, and went on to the northwest.  The wind, first hot from the fire, now came cool and fresh, though full of the odor of the burned grass.

“Closest call we’ve had,” said Jack.  “Yes,” I replied; “been pretty warm for us if we hadn’t waked up.  Our animals are doing better; first Snoozer distinguished himself, and now I think we’ve to thank Old Blacky mainly for this alarm.”